To grasp love, I must grasp the fact that it is a creation of God and therefore it is forever beyond me. But the very fact that it is forever beyond me is the very thing that prompts me to forever pursue it.

The yardstick that we frequently use to determine if something can be restored is based on the handful of inches that we bring to the process, when God shows up with an infinite amount of miles.

Self-preservation is to hunker down in the suffocating confines of this infinitesimally tiny existence that I define as ‘me,’ instead of letting ‘me’ run through the infinitely massive expanse of everything that is not me. And if the beast of self-preservation does not permit such freedoms, I will preserve myself to my own death.

It seems to me that our incessant attempts to define God is far more about our desire to humanize Him and far less about our desire to understand Him. And if I persist in my attempts to do the former I will never achieve the latter which leaves me with neither.

If I wholly unleash my imagination and forcefully stretch it out beyond its own edges, even at such a point I can only imagine a thin shard of this most immense God. And even though it is but a thin shard, it will nonetheless be mesmerizingly colossal.

It is implausible to assume that we are the sum total of this singular existence, for to probe the barest expanse of our depth is to set foot on the fringes of the infinite.

I don’t know how we explain our existence without explaining something bigger than us. And if we can explain something bigger than us, it must not be bigger than us. Hence, we are left with God.

Impossible’ is the rumor that dies when God shows up.

When I come to the end of myself it’s probably because God is teaching me how to find the beginning of Him.